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How grateful I used to be, last week, being spending a short vacation in Marrakech and Essaouira in Southern The other agents, enjoying the sun’s rays and the noises, smells and colours of the souks, riyads and lush gardens. Just how welcome all this light and beauty was, after the last difficult, off white winter months stuffed with the loss of a family member. Immersing myself in the disciplines and crafts of the Maghribi marketplaces, admiring the splendor of ancient Marrakech and Essaouira ” town walls over a thousands of years old, white- washed wall space, blue and turquoise lattices, tiles and mosaic flooring surfaces radiating an infinity of patterned color, tinkling fountains in silent courtyards ” I found a lot to enjoy, a great deal to explore, a great deal to anticipate each morning.
With all these scenery and all the surrounding me personally, it was a little oil art work in the corner of a restaurant near the old town ramparts of Essaouira that fired my own imagination the majority of.
The portrait depicted a banquet landscape of the thirties, at night, a banquet which has been, in fact , organised alongside the main gates of old Essaouira back then with all the important notables and people of standing attending in splendid dress, with burnus and lengthy flowing dresses.
The notables ” sheiks, merchants, friends ” had been still great feasts, their statistics lit by candles, framed by palms, behind them, the ramparts, dimly visible; and, turned to us, is the slim figure of the young black servant, wearing a turban and carrying what looks like a tray with refreshments. He seems to be seeking our way, as if going to invite us, too, to participate in the festivity ” the reason we are hesitating? The young stalwart seems to be going toward all of us, as if to say There may be enough for anyone, come come along, stranger!
I frequented that restaurant often in order to sit at a table around this painting and continue imagining whom the notables in their fine gowns had been, what they were celebrating, and what came into existence of them. Would their grandchildren still stay in Essaouira? And what about that elegantly dressed up young stalwart ” what treats could he end up being carrying upon that silver tray? Schedules, sweet pastries, oranges, or perhaps rahter, tea, coffee or perhaps sherbet? I invented listenings with the servant, how we could have been approached; and dreamed of what ambitious lives these kinds of finely outfitted men need to have led inside the years following the banquet. Even after giving Essaouira and flying returning to Germany, My spouse and i find that this kind of old portrait, which I have fondly named “The Moorish Banquet, even now speaks to my opinion.
It is the unknown of a wonderful feast which will we are in order to observe, from afar, as it had been; then, after closer overview, we are intrigued ” and delighted? Amazed? ” to understand we are getting included, that the slim youthful servant is definitely turning to us to allow us to partake of drinks. It is up to us to accept, to take the next step, to enter the circle of guests and join in. “The Moorish Banquet speaks to my opinion as metaphor, urging myself to accept Life’s many invites, invitations to participate and revel in and belong, invitations I might not have observing, opportunities I may not yet end up being fully aware of. The Moorish banquet urges me to take, to advance, to catch the moment and to have hope that I am welcome, that I belong.
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